Disfunctional
by newslayer
Summary: Sometimes his eyes hold a twinkle, and I know that he’s not really seeing her. Then, he changes the subject.


**Disfunctional**

**Disclaimer:** Screw this. You already know what's supposed to go here, so fill it in.

**Author's Note: **I know, this is a freaky idea. I seem to be full of those lately.

**Side Note: **I need (desperately) someone tobeta for me. Volunteers?

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Most people don't believe me when I tell them that my parents met on a deserted island after miraculously surviving an airplane crash. They don't believe it, especially when they start doing the math. 

"No," I often tell them "my dad is not my biological father. Mom was already pregnant with me when the plane crashed."

They seem satisfied by the answer.

Dad often tells me that people need to rationalize things, and that most times that tendency gets in the way. I still haven't figured out in the way of what, but I don't like interrupting him when he gets like that.

It usually means he is in the mood to tell me stories about the time we spent on the island.

"People need to rationalize things" He likes to repeat "Like they needed to rationalize why a woman like your mother would hang out with a good-for-nothing like me."

That is usually when my mom slaps him in the back of his head.

But he continues anyway, telling me how most people on the island thought she fancied him and how they all assumed he would take advantage of her.

Mom always lets out a soft chuckle, as if that was the stupidest idea in the whole world. She shakes her head and dad looks at her with a weird expression in her face. Sometimes he smiles, sometimes he shakes his head as well, but sometimes his eyes hold a twinkle, and I know that he's not really seeing her.

Then, he changes the subject.

I don't remember most people from the island; I was only five when they finally found us, and it's been five years since then. But dad's stories help me relate.

He doesn't feel like sharing them all the time, but when he does, he tells me about the time when I was little. Never about the time before, I observed once. He laughed, and ruffled my hair, and told me I was a "smart, precocious young man", too much for his taste.

Then, he changed the subject.

So, if I have a question about the island or the time before I was born, I ask uncle Sayid. Mom lets me go to his place whenever I want, so I do.

Dad says that if I spent any more time there people would actually believe that's where I live. He asks me what is it that we talk about so much, but he never pries.

Uncle Sayid rarely refuses to answer my questions, and he's told me many interesting things.

Like the time I asked him about how I was born.

That particular time he frowned, partly because he hadn't been there for my birth.

Mostly because he knew mom had already told me that story a thousand times. Of course she had.

"What exactly do you know about how you were born?"

I shrugged and told him that all I knew was that the doctor hadn't been there for the delivery.

"I see." He said "I suppose we should go back in the story a little bit then"

But he didn't tell me how the doctor had been working on a guy who'd had an accident.

"There was this girl," He started "Kate. She was the most beautiful woman on the island..."

Uncle Sayid always knows what I'm really asking him, and he always answers with the truth even if that earns him a glare from Shannon.

She doesn't stay mad at him, though. She knows he likes to spice up the story a little bit, to make it more entertaining.

She knows he tells me just about enough.

And I'm smart, precocious enough to know he tells me just about what he can without jeopardizing his friendship with my parents.

I know because I saw the look on dad's face the first time I mentioned I remembered seeing him with a brunette woman who had blue eyes. I've asked uncle Sayid about it.

That's when he stops answering.

Most kids ask me how is it that I landed the coolest dad in the whole world. He takes me fishing, he plays ball with me and he teaches me how to do stuff he learnt on the island.

He actually likes spending time with me. Mom says she knows that's his favorite thing in the whole world because he never smiles genuinely when I'm not around.

Anyway, I asked mom that very same question once. She told me that even after all they had gone through there where survivors, people who had been with her on the island, who had no problem hopping on a plane.

Like Charlie.

Mom says that after all that time waiting for a plane to fly by, he was so glad somebody had come for them that he'd had a hard time getting off the plane.

Perhaps that's the reason why he didn't come with her in the first place only to show up a couple of years ago.

That's a different story, though.

Some others- she explained- would live happily ever after if they could be spared from stepping on a plane for the rest of their lives, and that's the reason why they stayed here in Australia.

Apparently, dad is one of them.

Still, Sayid told me that he took a plane once. The people who rescued them had taken him to his home in the States, but he flew back here to take care of us. I asked dad once why he had done it. He said he had done it for me.

I know that in his head, there is no greater proof of love.

It's hard to get people to understand how my family works, especially when I tell them that dad lives across the street, and that he and mom never lived together, or were "romantically involved" for that matter.

They usually freak out when I tell them that mom is marrying Charlie.

He's alright, really. We have lots of fun together and he's teaching me how to play the guitar. I just like dad better.

And mom likes it that way, for some reason.

Charlie often says the island saved his life. Dad said the exact same thing once, except that when he did mom looked up at him questioningly. He corrected himself by saying that it wasn't the island; that she was.

Dad smiled somewhat sadly, a smile I see way too often, and mom gave him a hug and a peck on the cheek. Charlie just scowled.

I think sometimes he also has a hard time figuring out how my family works, but he says he's in for the long ride.

He also says my dad used to be a really different person, but lucky for us that bloody island gave everybody a chance to start over.

Dad likes him well enough, but he scolded him anyway when he heard him swearing.

Charlie said he didn't believe him. He laughed animatedly and shook his head, and commented on how dad used to say completely inappropriate things 'especially in front of Jack and Kate'.

The look on his face reminded me of one time when we found a newspaper article about the island that mom had saved in one of her drawers.

The woman in the picture was definitely beautiful.

Probably the most beautiful on the island.

That's why I stand paralyzed as I realize she is the one knocking on our door. She is here. The one person we never really talk about. The one person I really want to know about.

Shannon would say there is an elephant in our living room.

And she is smiling at me.

She says my name so softly it comes out as a question. But it's loud enough. Charlie throws the door open at the sound of her voice. Mom squeals.

They hug for a long time.

The three sit in the kitchen, drinking coffee and catching up. They let me stay, so I keep quiet not really knowing what to say.

She asks about dad and they do the same thing they always do whenever her name comes up in a conversation.

They graciously avoid the subject; still, mom smiles - like she always does when she wants to make me feel better- and squeezes her hand.

The brunette looks sad.

Maybe I should tell them the same thing dad told me the time I wanted to change school because some kid had made his personal business to pick on me every single day.

Some things you can run from, but sooner or later they catch up with you.

And that's exactly what I think about as I see dad walk in through the kitchen's door, in the careless way he always does.

For a moment it feels as if the world had frozen and he is the only thing moving, but even that stops when he realizes we are not alone.

She is really there.

We all stand, and mom and Charlie silently tell me to leave the room with them, so I do. I leave the door barely open though; I can still see them.

I know I shouldn't be shamelessly spying on them like this, but so is mom, so I guess that makes it OK.

It's not like it really matters anyway, because I can tell she is the only thing in his mind.

He is appalled.

He looks like the wind's been knocked out of him, and he leans back on the counter for support. The look on his face is not unusual; heartbreaking but not unusual anyway.

I've wondered about it all my life.

"Sawyer" She calls him, and I think she must be mistaken because that's certainly not my dad's name. But it's familiar enough for him to react to it and she's definitely talking to him, trying to get him to look at her.

When he finally shacks up the strength to do so, his eyes are filled with 'hows' and 'whys' and all the stupid questions I already knowgrown-ups ask whenthey actually should not be thinking at all.

Charlie said once that thinking should be regarded as a dangerous, harmful activity.

I can tell by the look on mom's face that she agrees.

His thinking may actually ruin this. Because they don't speak, they just look at each other and when she is ready to give up, when she convinces herself that there are no words that could get through to him, she slowly moves towards the door, knowing fully well that his eyes are following her.

His questioning, confused, pained eyes.

But then, when her hand touches the doorknob, the unthinkable happens.

She turns around and through the tears she offers him a small smile.

"I took a plane to come to you" She says.

We smile.

That's when he kisses her.

_

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Written by Mary S._


End file.
